


Mollcroft Friday Posts from Tumblr

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Series: Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, Mollcroft, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the posts from my  Mollcroft Friday series found on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Original Prompt List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clio_Trismegista](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clio_Trismegista/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have put this here in my A03 account so I can find it when I need it. The fun starts in chapter 2!

Mollcroft Friday - 12 September edition ...  
…

As requested … let’s do it again! Below is a list of starters — I have made a few changes to the list I sent out last week. Send me a line and I’ll write a quick Mollcroft ficlet. ( I do have one leftover from last week that I will do too!) And if you have a one-liner that is not listed, feel free to send it to me! 

(Original list from thealphar)

"Are you breaking up with me?"

 ”Are you having nightmares again?”

 ”Anything you want to say?” 

"Be quiet!" 

"But what if we get caught?" 

"Can you not?"

 ”Care to tell me what’s going on?”

 ”Come find me.”

 ”Did you even love me?”

 ”Did you ever stop to think about how I feel?”

 ”Don’t look at me like that.”

 ”Don’t touch me.” 

"Do you love him/her?"

 ”Do you love me?”

 ”Eviction notice. It’s an eviction notice.”

 ”Fine, I’ll go.”

  ”Gotcha!” 

"I get that you wanted to come up with the plan, but your plan is stupid"

"I said that I’m in love with you."

 ”I think I’m pregnant.” 

"I believe it’s called Friends with Benefits."

"I’m going to kill you." 

"I’m not eating that."

 ”Listen, it was a completely innocent gesture.”

"Look who just did the walk of shame."

"Miss you."

 ”No. The answer is no.”

 ”Not drunk enough for this.”

 ”Never, ever doing that again.”

 ”Okay, I know this looks bad…” 

"Please don’t."

 ”Please stop talking.”

 ”“Quiet! Someone’s going to hear.”

  ”Really, where were you?” 

"Silly of me to think you actually cared." 

"Simple? Brushing my teeth is simple. This? This is not simple." 

"This definitely isn’t what it looks like."

 ”Us? There is no us.” 

"We can’t do this."

 ”Wait, what did you just say?” 

" "Why are you naked?" 

 ”X-Rays? What the hell did you do and why didn’t you tell me?”

 ”You broke up with me remember!” 

"You’re leaving? But it’s taco night…" 

"Zebras have nothing to do with this conversation." 


	2. "Look who just did the walk of shame."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is purely for entertainment.
> 
> ****  
> This chapter was inspired by the starter chosen by Clio_Trismegista

Mycroft looked nervously at his watch willing the elevator in his building to move faster. 

He was so late. If he was lucky he could just manage a quick shower before he needed to race into this morning's COBRA meeting. 

Damn that alluring little pout which had appeared on her face as he tried to get out of bed. He had a will of steel -- except when it came to her. 

The elevator door opened. Seconds later Mycroft was opening the door to this tiny city flat. Slamming the door in his haste Mycroft began discarding items of clothing while heading towards the shower. 

"Well, well, well. Look who just did the walk of shame." Sherlock was sitting on Mycroft's sofa with his legs crossed looking bemused and smug. 

"Christ Sherlock what are you doing here?" Mycroft shouted as he stumbled with his trousers around his ankles. 

"You invited me."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock blankly. 

"Yesterday. You rang and said come over at 8pm to discuss Mummy's birthday present." Sherlock answered innocently. 

With his memory jogged Mycroft remembered the call to Sherlock-- and the call right after that had made him forget all about his brother. 

"I was working."

"No you weren't. You have risotto on your tie. It's your favorite but you never eat it out or when you are stuck in the office. Plus I checked all your usual offices. When you didn't arrive by Midnight I knew it would be worth my wait. What's her name?"

"I'm late. Get out." Mycroft continued to unbutton his shirt on the way to his shower room. 

"Is it the wife of the new Polish Ambassador?" 

"No."

"The wife of a Cabinet Minister?"

"No."

Slamming the bathroom door Mycroft dropped his shirt and pants in the laundry and turned the shower on hot. 

Moments later the door opened. Mycroft knew Sherlock wouldn't be delayed by the standard lock very long. 

"I've got it! Given your schedule yesterday it must be ..." Sherlock's voice trailed off. "Oh. I see. It wasn't a one-night-stand."

"No." 

Taking a deep breath Mycroft prepared himself to be deduced. He knew Sherlock would soon know everything. 

There were no welts from a riding crop, chafing from restraints, or the tell-tale indents from handcuffs. 

Instead Mycroft’s body bore the indications of something far more serious – a very enthusiastic and passionate physical relationship. On his hips were two red oblongs --imprints from where two thighs had been clamped around him under an hour ago. Various scratches cross crossed his back -- none of them fresh. The rug burn on his left knee was now healing nicely. An angry bruise had appeared on his right shoulder caused by their rolling off the sofa last night. On his collar bone the yellow remains of a bite mark -- a souvenir from their first frenzied encounter. 

Ignoring Sherlock's intense stare Mycroft turned the water off and grabbed his towel. After a quick dry he wrapped it around his waist. He then began shaving. 

Taking a deep breath Sherlock began quietly. "You've known her for a long time. Perhaps years. This ... This is new. Only the last month or so. Given the variety and volume of evidence ... the intensity is mutual." Sherlock was looking specifically at a set of small round bruises, made by fingertips, dancing across Mycroft’s mid back.

Mycroft's eyes remained firmly fixed on the mirror and shaving. He remained silent. So far Sherlock was right. 

"She is short with long brown hair. Lives about 30 minutes away by car. Single with no children. And given the new found definition of your arms and thighs -- she's slim -- you can lift her -- and you do regularly."

Mycroft's gaze flicked to Sherlock momentarily but Mycroft still didn't say anything.

Shaving done. Product in his hair, Mycroft strode past Sherlock, on the way to his bedroom to get dressed. 

"Come on Mycroft, why the secrecy?" Sherlock stood outside the open bedroom door sounding like a hurt little brother. 

"My personal life is none of your business," came the response from the bedroom. 

"Is she hideous?"

"No."

"Is she embarrassed about you?"

"No."

Fully dressed, Mycroft came out of the bedroom. His eyes were frantically scanning the small living room -- obviously looking for something. 

“Should I expect a happy announcement soon?”

Sherlock was visibly shocked that a curt “No” had not come out of his brother’s mouth. Instead Mycroft remained silent with the hint of a smile on his face.

A soft knock at the door drew the brothers' attention. Hesitantly Mycroft opened the door to find Molly holding his umbrella. 

"You forgot this and forecast is for rain. I'm glad I caught you before your meeting."

"Ah there it is! Thank you darling." Mycroft's lips brushed Molly's as he rushed past grabbing the umbrella. "I must go. But you best stay – I believe Sherlock is going to need some medical attention.”


	3. "That's how all this started in the first place”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From from my Mollcroft Friday series -- for Stickyrive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is for entertainment only.

John, and Greg were huddled around Sherlock on the far side of Molly’s lab. It was a Thursday evening at a time when most normal people should be already at home 

At exactly 7pm Mycroft swept into the lab with his usual flourish. He gave the group a withering look. “Do any of you know the whereabouts of Miss Hooper?” Mycroft didn’t stop to listen to the answer as he made his way over to check Molly’s office.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"What do you think he wants?" John asked Sherlock under his breath.

"I believe the medical term is ‘gagging for it.’ "replied Sherlock without looking up.

Greg snorted. ”Poor sod. I remember those days,” whispered Greg.

"He has no chance," replied John. "Not with the mood she’s in."

"Fiver says is does," said Greg with an evil grin. 

John held out his hand. “I”ll take that bet.”

Finding Molly not in her office Mycroft came back into the lab with Molly’s coat in his hand. Moment’s later Molly returned from the morgue.

"Hi Mycroft. What are you doing here so late? Do you need something?"

Greg and John both tried not to giggle.

"Actually I do. I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner."

"Why?" Molly folded her arms across her chest.

"Do I need a reason?" asked Mycroft innocently.

"No, but you usually have a reason. And I want to know what that reason is."

Greg mouthed “Ouch!” while a smirk appeared on John’s face.

"Fine. I wish to thank you for all of your help with this case." Mycroft made a random sweeping hand gesture to the crowd in the back of the lab.

"Where is the reservation?"

"Go on my son," said Greg quietly as he raised a fist like he was urging on his favourite footballer. 

"Angelo’s. We may have dined there once or twice before. Perhaps you remember?" Mycroft tried to make this comment as casually as possible.

"I remember. The answer is no."

Greg put his hands to his head like said favourite footballer had missed a goal from two meters away.

"Why? I thought you enjoyed Angelo’s."

"I do. Very much. I have the lasagne. You have the gnocchi. Then we both have too much wine. The answer is "N" "O".

Rolling back on his heels John laughed out loud.

"What’s your issue? We like the food. We always have a good time …" Mycroft shrugged and frowned at Molly.

"Dinner at Angelo’s — that’s how all this started in the first place!” exclaimed Molly as she turned side on to Mycroft pointing down at the unmistakable baby bump under her lab coat."

Now both Greg and John were both laughing.

Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t see what the problem is. We both know what’s going to happen and you can’t get any more pregnant than you are.”

Both Greg and John froze with their mouths open — it was as if Mycroft had taken a goal kick from over the halfway line — Mycroft was either going to strike gold or Molly was going to kill him – right there with three witnesses.

Molly’s eyes narrowed on Mycroft and her expression turned hard. 

Slowly a little frown appeared on Mycroft’s face and his eyebrows went up. It was the same face sad puppy dog face Sherlock pulled when he wanted something.

A grin rolled across Sherlock’s face without him looking up.

"When did you teach him how to do that look?" hissed John. "I would not have bet if I knew you had taught him that!"

"Last weekend. In exchange for two hours with his ID on the ultra secret web. I finally know who killed JFK," responded Sherlock smugly. 

Rolling her eyes and sighing, Molly motioned for her coat. Being a gentleman Mycroft slid the coat up Molly’s arms.

"Someday … Someday Mycroft Holmes I will be able to resist you." Molly slipped her arm in Mycroft’s as he led her out of the lab.

"I for one certainly hope that never happens." Mycroft gave Greg and John a wink as the door closed behind them.


	4. "Wait, what did you just say?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For cornishrexmomma

It was Sunday night. Sitting at the desk in his study Mycroft was going through his diary for the upcoming week.

Molly was curled up nearby on the sofa under a blanket stroking Toby while watching Downton Abbey.

Letting out a sigh Mycroft flicked through his new 2015 diary.

"Next year is filling up already."

Focused on the telly Molly responded with a small grunt.

"Spring or Summer wedding?" asked Mycroft looking at the back of Molly’s head over his reading glasses.

"Neither," replied Molly clearly still focused on Downton. "Autumn."

Mycroft’s face lit up and he made an appreciative noise as he flicked forward a few pages in the 2015 diary.

Clicking his tongue, Mycroft was deep in thought as he muttered, “The first half of September is already full with the upcoming financial crisis in Portugal and the riots in Brazil …. hummm …” Mycroft opened Molly’s 2015 diary. “The deadline for submissions to the Pathology Journal is September 28 … two weeks later makes it the weekend of Oct 17th?”

"No. I’ve already applied for late submission. Make it the week after."

"Fine. Oct 24 2015 it is. Of course we will have to talk to our families but I’m sure they will be more than accommodating."

"Yeah. Okay."

With a pleased smile on his face Mycroft went back to filling out various bits in his diary.

Once Downton went to commercial break Molly turned around and frowned at Mycroft. “Wait, what did you just say?”

"I said I have pencilled in our wedding for next Oct 24."

"What?"

"You said you wanted an Autumn wedding."

"Yes but we haven’t talked about if you want children."

"Fine," Mycroft rolled his eyes, "An heir and a spare. If you require anymore children I shall leave it up to you to find an appropriate moment of weakness to discuss it so I agree to another."

"But you haven’t asked me."

"Asked you what?"

"To marry you."

Frowning Mycroft questioned, “Do you wish the children we just discussed to be born out of wedlock?”

Molly gave Mycroft an incredilous stare. 

"Don’t look at me like that. You are the one that dragged the children into this," responded Mycroft playfully. 

"Proper proposal with a ring," stated Molly firmly as she turned back to the telly. The commercials were over. 

"You don’t wear rings." 

"Don’t have one." Molly shrugged once again watching the TV intently. 

If Molly had been listening she would have heard the jingle of keys as Mycroft unlocked his bottom desk drawer and opened it. 

Casually Mycroft made his way over to the sofa. The coffee table was pushed out of the way without Molly even looking up. 

Standing next to the sofa Mycroft cleared his throat. 

Looking up briefly Molly could clearly see the bump of a ring box in Mycroft’s jacket pocket. “Proper proposals come during commercial breaks.” Molly replied with an impish smile — her attention remained on Downton. 

With a smirk on his face Mycroft took out his mobile phone and sent a text. Seconds later Downton vanished, replaced with the ITV logo on a black screen and the in-studio producer announcing the unexpected technical difficulty was being delt with as swiftly as possible. 

Letting out a sigh Molly swung her legs off the couch so she was sitting properly “I thought you could only do that to the Beeb,” she giggled as she redid her pony tail. 

Watching Mycroft lower himself down onto one knee Molly could see just a hint of nervousness on a face that was usually only self-assured. 

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Mycroft said softly as he took Molly’s hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes.


	5. "Look what you have done to me, again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Champirocks

Molly was exhausted. Even though she had delivered 17 babies during her medical residency she had no idea it was going to be such an ordeal. 

Rolling her head to the left she saw Mycroft sitting on a chair next to her hospital bed holding their daughter, only moments old, in his arms.

Great big tears were rolling down Mycroft’s cheeks and landing on his light blue shirt making dark blue splotches. 

The last time she had seen Mycroft like this Molly had been terrified. 

It had been after their wedding. After the ceremony, photos, and reception when they finally arrived home. They had just stepped, actually Mycroft had stepped, Molly has been carried, over the threashold. 

Molly had fully expected to be swept up to the bedroom. 

But it didn’t happen that way. 

Silently, and without even turning on any lights Mycroft had swiftly ushered Molly into his study. She tried to protest but was shushed and before Molly knew what was happening Mycroft had pulled her down onto the leather sofa and onto his lap. 

He held her firmly, his head tucked into her neck, as the tears rolled down his cheeks. It frightened Molly to see Mycroft so vaulunerable. She worried he wasn’t happy. That he regretted getting married. Or perhaps she had done something wrong or hurt him?

On the contrary Mycroft managed to say. He was overcome. He had no idea this was how happiness felt. He had assumed it would never happen to him. But here he was thanks to her. He just needed to sit here in the dark and cry silently and hold her— just for a few minutes. 

Molly smiled as she looked at Mycroft and the baby. She gently laid a hand on his arm. 

"Are you okay?"

"Look what you’ve done to me — again," whispered Mycroft.


	6. "Fight me for it!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fight me for it!" Mycroft’s competitiveness is well known, but truth be told little Molly Hooper can be just as bad… (And omg, I would love you forever if you wrote in that competitive!Molly is actually a Mycroft kink.)
> 
> Here you go he03!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For he03

"Fight me for it!"

Those four words. Mycroft never tired of hearing them.

Whispered.   
Shouted.   
Panted.   
Texted.

It didn’t matter.

The simple little words, when said by Molly Hooper, always lit a fire in Mycroft’s belly and caused his heart to skip a beat.

What is power without someone to challenge it? To have black you must have white. To understand happiness you must have experienced sorrow.

But in Mycroft’s line of work it was hard to find someone who was willing to stand up to him — to not let him get his way all of the time. Of course there was Sherlock. But in so many things, little brothers didn’t really count. 

Then one day in the morgue as Molly took the last rich tea biscuit off the communal plate, raised her eyes to Mycroft and winked (!) he knew then and there she was a fighter. And boy did it turn him on.

Oh, it began slowly … this thing between the two of them … both knew that the other was a worthy adversary and sometimes a slow burn causes the hottest fire. 

It took them ages to figure out the best way to fight. 

In the beginning it was eyes meeting as one hand snapped out to snatch the last biscuit; or the scramble over each other for the seat on Sherlock’s couch that didn’t have the broken spring; or the late night texting page numbers to each other in the race to finish the latest best seller. Exhausting and too focused on dexterity, the pair looked for a better way to compete with each other.

After the “speed round,” as it came to be known, was over things moved on to mental games.

For both, the obvious game of choice was chess. This round didn’t last long either. Too long and complicated (at least the way they played) and not portable enough as a resolution to any and all day to day queries.

Riddles, conundrums, and brain-teasers came next.

Although the weekly Sunday morning race through the crossword puzzle was, and continues to be, a much anticipated event for both parties, especially now that it includes a selection of creative forfeits for the loser, none of these cerebral challenges were useful for settling things like who gets to decide dinner.

One particularly boring, rainy afternoon led to a few weeks of wrestling. On the whole, this too was ineffective — Mycroft, taller, stronger and always the gentleman never really gave it his all, fearing he would hurt Molly. While Molly with her vast knowledge of anatomy, knew exactly how to hurt Mycroft in very creative ways — none of which were hindered by her size or comparative lack of strength — instead she worried about causing permanent damage. This phase did lead to their first sexual encounter, so on the whole it is remembered fondly by both.

Even tossing away the take-away containers became a competitive sport. (For the record: Mycroft won by tossing an empty pizza box like a frisbee and having it land in the bin from 13.7 metres.) 

It the end it was decided that a simple playground game, Rock, Paper, Scissors, would be their day-to-day method of settling disputes and making decisions.

All Molly has to do is look Mycroft in the eye, hold up her right fist at the ready and say, “Fight me for it,” whenever a challenge presents itself and Mycroft’s brain scrambles trying to chose his throw while forcing himself not to just give into his desires and take her right there in his car /her office/ the coffee shop when it is discovered there is only one double chocolate pudding left. 

Mycroft fears some day Molly will grow tired of these games and leave him.

Molly, on the other hand, hopes these games will never end. She thinks it’s going to be fun to decide baby names using Rock, Paper, Scissors.


	7. "May need you to bail me out of jail"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "May need you to bail me out of jail" Bonus if Sherlock is involved somehow! for shnuffeluv

It was exactly 2:34am when the phone on Molly’s bedside table began to ring. She was very tempted not to answer it. Nothing good ever comes from a 2:34am phone call. 

"Um. Hello?"

"Molly. Sorry to trouble you at this hour."

"It’s okay Mycroft. Do you need me to come to Whitehall later and bring you a care package? Yesterday I bought a pack of your favourite biscuts and some loose Earl Grey. But I thought the talks with the Nigerians ended two days ago."

"They did. No. I need something else."

"Seriously Mycroft. Couldn’t you have anticipated this a few hours ago before I crawled into my own bed and fell asleep? It’s raining. Even if you send a car I’m going to be wet, cold and grumpy. You will have your work cut out for you … "

"Molly. Just listen. May need you to bail me out of jail."

"…….."

"Molly. Are you still there?"

"Um. Yes. How could you get arrested?"

"There was a sting operation. I was, as they say, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lestrade happens to be on holiday and the tenacious twit he has left in charge is looking for newspaper headlines instead of fearing for his job. "

"Okay. Do I dare ask what you have been charged with?"

"Soliciting."

"What? You have been arrested for soliciting and you call your girlfriend to bail you out if jail? This sounds more like an Anthea job to me."

"She hung up on me. Obviously, I was not actually soliciting. I was trying to get Sherlock home in one piece."

"Why would that be considered soliciting?"

"Chances are the hooker boots, fishnet stockings, leather mini skirt, push-up bra, and long blonde wig he was wearing gave the wrong impression to the officers watching as he got into the back of my car."

"Did you just say hooker boots?"

"Yes I did. Apparently he was under cover. Although his gait was far too natural. Those hooker boots aren’t new."

"Who is this and what have you done with my Mycroft"

"He is here and has a cynide pill on his person which he is not above using if he has to endure another round of "Wheels on the Bus" sung by a collection of drunks led by Sherlock. Are you coming or not?"

"Yep. I’m coming."


	8. "Don't touch me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mycrawft

Mycroft was standing with his hands on his hips, looking out of the window in Molly’s childhood room.

Coming up behind him Molly looped her arms through his giving Mycroft a hug from behind. “There you are. I have been looking everywhere for you.”

"Don’t touch me," Mycroft snapped without looking at Molly.

"What? What’s happened?" pulling away, Molly had a worried look on her face.

"What have you told your brother about me?"

"Nothing really. Why?"

"Haven’t you noticed? Your brother keeps calling me ‘The Bond Villain.’ What have you said?"

"I didn’t have to say anything. We arrived in your big black car, complete with driver. Then, even before we had unpacked, you spent about an hour at the bottom of the garden yelling — in Russian — on the phone while gesturing emphatically."

"I shouldn’t have to apologise for saving humanity from World War Three yesterday," shrugged Mycroft.

“And when my brother took the dogs out for their walk this morning he found your not-so-subtle security team at the end of the drive.”

Mycroft made a ‘humph’ noise through his nose. Perhaps, all things considered he hadn’t given Molly’s family the best first impression yesterday.

"Still. I can hardly ask for your hand in marriage if he considers me a Bond Villain."

"First of all, you are just being old fashioned. You don’t need to ask for my hand. Secondly, you should perhaps ask me first. Maybe I don’t want to be married to a Bond Villain." Molly giggled hoping to lighten Mycroft’s mood.

It didn’t work.

"Not funny. If he keeps calling me ‘The Bond Villain’ I won’t be responsible for my actions."

A male voice called up to them from downstairs, “Hey Mols, Mum says to tell you and The Bond Villain that lunch is almost ready.”

Mycroft looked down at Molly and raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

Molly called out, “He says if you don’t stop calling him The Bond Villain he is going to push you into his shark tank. Tell Mum we’ll be right down.” Molly burst out laughing.

"You are not helping," scowled Mycroft as he followed Molly out the door. "I am nervous enough without you encouraging him."

"Ha. Ha." called Molly’s brother. "He wanted to ask me something.Tell him he can come down the pub after lunch and watch the Arsenal match with me. We can talk then."

"Maybe I’ll make him a deal," muttered Mycroft mostly to himself, "… We only stay for the first half and I won’t have him water boarded for his three unpaid parking fines. Or perhaps … I have a bit of nerve agent left over in the cap of my pen. A little of that in his drink would speed up the trip to the pub."

After rolling her eyes, Molly took Mycroft’s hand and led him downstairs for lunch.


	9. "Kicking someone is not a form of romance"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For cliotrismegista

The hour felt early. Under closed eyelids Molly could just make out the first gentle rays of morning sun peeking through the curtains.

Every inch of her body ached. 

A small groan escaped. Why did it feel like she had run a marathon followed by a few hours rock climbing?

Slowly Molly raised her arms and stretched them over her head. As she scrunched her eyes closed even tighter a massive yawn contorted her face. 

Tensing her lower back, Molly pulled her legs up to her chest and then thrust them out in front of her. 

"Ooph!" Molly’s eyes snapped open in horror as her legs connected with something — no — someone. 

"Kicking someone is not a form of romance," Mycroft’s blue eyes were starring at Molly. Instead of anger, there was a bemused look on his face.

"By the look on your face I can tell you have forgotten where your are … I was hoping that our nocturnal activities were slightly more memorable then they obviously were." 

Slowly the coolness of the Egyptian Cotton sheets on Molly’s naked skin brought the memories of last night back: dinner to thank Molly for once again helping Sherlock when he over dosed … conversation that came surprisingly easy for both of them … a bit too much champaigne … the rain … her wrap was too light … his suit jacket still held his warmth … a soft kiss as the car began to move through the London night … an invitation to come back to his house … the acceptance … 

Her breathing became more ragged as the rest of the evening was remembered. 

Achingly slowly Mycroft moved towards Molly. “Now then. What are you going to do to make up for kicking me?”


	10. "I've changed my mind. I'm not drunk enough for this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For shnuffeluv

”I’ve changed my mind. I’m not drunk enough for this.” 

It was Thursday afternoon at 2:40pm. Mycroft was looking quite nervous as he stood next to the silver Vauxhall Corsa. Suddenly he regretted only having half a glass of white wine with lunch.

"Tell me again why we can’t take my car?"

"Because I have allowed my family to think you are a normal. Not someone who has a car that costs goodness-knows-how-much and a driver."

"I am more than slightly offended — normal — me? –never.."

"Yep. I’m sure they will figure it out soon enough. We don’t need your car and driver to give them any advance notice of just how ‘not-normal’ you are."

Mycroft sighed. “Remind me again when you passed your test?”

"Three years ago. Clean record. No accidents. Look. You don’t have to go. I thought you wanted to."

"I can not possibly let you drive to Dorset alone."

"Then get in the car."

"But you will be driving. What am I going to do?"

"Continually adjust the temperature, fiddle with the radio and complain about my driving is my guess."

"Changing from Classic FM to Radio 4 at the top of the hour for the news is hardly fiddling. And certainly not enough of a distraction to entertain me for the whole trip."

”There is always talking.”

"You can’t talk. You’ll be driving."

"Mycroft? When was the last time you sat in the passenger seat of a car?"

Shuffling nervously and looking down at his feet Mycroft mumbled, “I don’t remember.”

Molly rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. Then she walked over to the car and opened the passenger door. “In,” she said forcefully. 

Obeying the command Mycroft folded his tall body as best he could into the passenger seat of Molly’s car. He looked slightly more comfortable once Molly showed him how to adjust his seat.

Wearing a small triumphant smile, Molly expertly pulled out into traffic and headed to her Gran’s 80th birthday party in Dorset with a very jittery Mycroft at her side.


	11. “Silly of me to think you actually cared.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollcroft Friday -- “Silly of me to think you actually cared.” – for sherlolly-is-jolly

It was 6:13am on Friday morning and Molly’s phone was ringing. She rolled over with a groan to answer it. 

“Hello,” the word was only a sleepy whisper.

“Good morning Molly. I trust you slept well.” The British Government sounded very chipper. He always started his day early.

“Yea. Fine. I was hoping to get a bit more sleep. But whatever.” Molly yawned.

Mycroft said nothing.

“Mycroft? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Um. What are you doing?”

“I am on my way to work.”

“So, why did you ring?”

Molly could hear Mycroft take a deep breath, “I just thought that maybe you would like to speak to me before my day begins.”

“Well, I always like talking to you Mycroft but I’m not sure ….”

“Never mind. I will see you later.” With a huff, Mycroft hung up the phone.

“Silly of me to think you actually cared,” sighed Mycroft to no one.

Molly burst out laughing and started to count down from 30 in her head as she imagined the scene in the back of Mycroft’s car …

//

After ending the call, Mycroft with a scowl on his face had slumped in his seat. He and Molly had been going out about six months. Today was his birthday and he had been led to believe by society at large that one generally gets some special attention from “girlfriends” (god he hated that word) on certain special days. He had at least hoped she would have remembered and wished him “Happy Birthday” today.

It was true. He had told her not to make a fuss. No gifts, or anything that could even loosely be called a celebration. Begrudgingly he would allow a small cake. (a short list of his favourites had been drawn up but Molly could choose.) 

Mycroft was not a sentimental man. But for the first time ever he had a girlfriend when it was his birthday and .. well … he had hoped for once his wishes would be ignored.

As a grumpy Mycroft travelled to work his mood got worse when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a small light pink triangle peeking out from the seat pocket in front of him. Mycroft pulled out the offending article fully intending to shout at his driver for allowing a piece of rubbish in his car.

It was a note addressed to him:

My dearest Mycroft,

Just a quick message to say

I have left my birthday wishes

Scattered throughout your day

Xx

Molly

P.S. Special treat after you find them all!

Oh. Oh! Maybe there was something to be said about the whole “girlfriend” (still hate that word) thing.

//

28 seconds after Mycroft had hung up, Molly received a text …

[SMS: I have found 4 in my car. How many are there?-MH]

[SMS: Great start! One for every year. ;) xx Molly]

//

In addition to the notes hiding in all of his jacket and pants’ pockets – Mycroft did wonder how he had managed to get dressed this morning and miss them all — throughout his day Mycroft found little messages from Molly wishing him Happy Birthday or HBD if space was tight.

Whenever he found a message Mycroft texted Molly to let her know:

[SMS: Page 4 Financial Times (#9)]

[SMS: In my notebook on the next blank page (#11)]

[SMS: Pavement outside my office (#15)]

[SMS: Under the doily on my saucer at The Palace. Good god how did you do that. (#19)]

[SMS: Graffiti on a lamppost outside my 11:30a meeting (#23)]

[SMS: Written in the margin of my menu at lunch. I think I might need to offer you a job – your country needs you. (#31)]

[SMS: WRITTEN IN THE BOTTOM OF MY TEA CUP IN DOWNING STREET! Who do you work for??? (#37)]

//

The final meeting Mycroft had scheduled the day was with Sherlock at Baker Street. As Mycroft entered his brother’s flat he saw Greg chatting with Sherlock. Greg’s expression changed instantly when Mycroft entered the room. Suddenly Inspector Lestrade looked very nervous and more than slightly guilty. Hastily he got up and before Mycroft was able to even take his coat off, Greg was standing in front of him with his hand outstretched.

“Happy birthday mate,” Greg said while shaking Mycroft’s hand and clapping him on the back. He managed to do this all without making eye contact.

In a blink of an eye Greg headed out of the flat, leaving Mycroft standing just inside the door rather confused.

“What was that all about?”

“Maybe he embarrassed by all the attention your woman is paying you today.”

“Must you refer to Molly in that way?”

“Why? She is a “woman” and she is “yours” – that is until she comes to her senses and dumps you.” Sherlock was pretending to read a Guns and Ammo magazine.

“Even you can’t spoil my mood today, Sherlock.” Mycroft took his coat off and hung it up and then took the chair opposite Sherlock.

“Don’t sit. On the fridge, in the biscuit tin, down the side of the chair you are sitting in and in our Operation game.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I do hope this means your silly scavenger hunt has now ended”

Mycroft refrained from slugging Sherlock for ruining his fun and instead causally collected the notes ticking off the numbers in his head.

“Afraid not. There seems to be one more that has eluded me thus far.” Mycroft had brought the Operation game over and was setting it up between them.

“Best three out of five today. After all it is your birthday,” sighed Sherlock

//

Mycroft was now standing in the middle of Molly’s flat, his hands on his hips while his eyes were roving around the living room. “One more to go, and you are right it is somewhere in my flat.”

Mycroft frowned, wondering where to start. He took a step towards the kitchen.

“Cold,” said Molly with a giggle. She was sitting on the couch with a huge smile on her face.

Mycroft took a step towards the chair.

“Cold.”

Step towards the couch.

“Warm”

Mycroft moved towards Molly.

“Very warm,” more giggles erupted from Molly. Mycroft’s eyes lit up.

Holding Molly’s gaze Mycroft took Molly’s shirt off.

“Good start – but only warm so far,” Mycroft pulled Molly into a kiss as he ran his hand down her back, “Getting warmer,” she sighed in his ear. Mycroft ran his hand down over Molly’s backside and over her left thigh. “So hot now you are burning up,” Molly was now laughing. Mycroft pulled back enough so he could undo the fastener and zipper on Molly’s trousers, slipping them down her legs.

Mycroft let out an appreciative groan. “I thought I had to find one more note before I got my present.”

“You do.” Molly said with an impish grin.

Frowning Mycroft pulled back slightly so he could look at Molly, who was now standing front of him in her bra and knickers. He took a deep breath, keeping various urges at bay while he scanned her body for the final message. There it was – written on Molly’s left thigh:

“Well done! I hope you have enjoyed your birthday! You certainly have earned your present!”

Mycroft hummed happily and with a smile on his face began to kiss Molly.

Suddenly, Mycroft pulled away from Molly and held her by the arms. There was a shocked look on his face.

“That is not your handwriting.” Mycroft was looking at Molly sideways.

“No. it’s not.” Molly was now looking a little sheepish.

“You had to have help to do that …”

“Um …. Well … I asked Sherlock …”

“And he turned you down knowing what I would do to him …” Mycroft’s heart was racing.

“But I did need someone to write it …”

“Lestrade saw you in your knickers!” shouted Mycroft pointing to Molly’s thigh.

“I figured there would be significantly less chance you would actually kill him when you caught him than if it had been Sherlock.”

“Lestrade’s a dead man,” muttered Mycroft.

“He knows. That’s why we’ll be giving him a half hour head start.” Smiling, Molly pulled Mycroft into a deep kiss.

The notes, a romantic interlude, soon a man-hunt through London against one of Scotland Yard’s finest to ensure Lestrade wiped all memories of Molly’s thigh out of his mind forever – this is by far my best birthday ever thought Mycroft. There really is something special about these “girlfriend” (hate the word a bit less now) things.

 

Thanks to thinkture for making it that much better :)


	12. "Gotcha!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollcroft Friday -- "Gotcha!" For he03
> 
> The request: Mycroft vs Toby the cat two territorial (and very clingy / jealous) predators vying for Molly’s attention, affection and tummy rubs.

The two males in Molly’s life were carrying out a silent war: 

\- When Molly sat down on the couch, one would jump on her lap, the other would put his arm around her. 

\- If one was getting a tummy rub, the other needed Molly’s help in the kitchen NOW. 

\- Expensive fountain pens unexpectedly fell to the floor. (Such a coincidence that Toby had recently passed by.)

\- Food bowls were knocked over (accidentally — of course.) 

When confronted, each party feigned innocence. Molly suspected otherwise. 

The war escalated:   
-Toby developed a limp.   
-Mycroft’s hand needed three stitches.

Neither would confess nor disclose details. 

Things could not continue this way and Molly was determined to catch the two waring males in the act. 

One Saturday afternoon Molly heard a scuffle begin and she burst out of her bedroom into the living room.

"Gotcha!" she shouted finding the pair about to engage in hand-to-paw combat. 

Poised to lunge at Toby, his big hands spread wide and with crazy in his eyes Mycroft froze when he heard Molly. 

Toby had been on his back legs, mouth open to bite, claws out to scratch. At the sound of Molly’s voice he dropped down back onto all fours. His eyes contained fury. 

"I knew you two were fighting," Molly screamed! "This has got to stop. I am going out and by the time I get back I want this solved. Or I turn you both out tonight to fend for yourselves." After issuing her stern ultimatum, Molly left. 

Both males watched the front door close behind her. 

Toby gave Mycroft a withering look as he jumped onto the window ledge. 

Mycroft crossed his arms across his chest and flung himself onto the couch with a huff. (He wanted the position at the window.)

The pair sat in silence. 

Eventually Mycroft spoke, “She’ll be back soon.” His voice contained more than a little bit of worry because he did not know where to begin. 

With an air of resignation — one of them has to start — Toby gave himself a quick wash behind the ears before effortlessly making his way along the thin ledge to Mycroft. He gracefully jumped down onto the sofa. 

Laying a paw on Mycroft’s arm Toby stared directly into the human’s eyes. 

"Oh." said Mycroft with genuine surprise. "Of course. I should have realised. Leave it with me."

When Molly returned home Mycroft and Toby were sitting at either ends of the sofa. 

The war was over. 

"Please accept my apologies Molly. There is pressing business I must attend to." Before she could question him Mycroft had vanished. 

Ignoring Molly’s offers of tummy rubs or ear scratches Toby retreated to his basket for the rest of the day. 

As Molly lay alone in her bed that night she wondered if this really was better than the fighting. 

// 

Three days later Molly recieved a text: [SMS: I’m sending a car. Bring Toby.]

Fourty minutes later Molly, holding Toby in his carrier, was being shown into Mycroft’s study by his housekeeper. 

Looking up from his seat on the sofa Mycroft gave Molly a big smile and said quietly, “Do come in. I have someone to introduce you to.” 

Much to Molly’s amazement she saw curled up on Mycroft’s lap a small British Blue cat. “Her name is Natashia.” Looking down adoringly Mycroft scratched behind the kitten’s steel-grey ears. “Go ahead. Let Toby out so he can meet her.”

That evening Molly and Mycroft watched on happily as the two cats became familiar with each other. 

The next day Molly rang Mycroft after she got home from work. “He is sitting in his carrier and won’t come out. I think he wants to see Natashia.” 

"I’ll send a car. You of course are welcome too."

And so it continued, with most evenings now being spent by the foursome at Mycroft and Natashia’s house. 

Then one night, Toby walked over to Natashia’s basket where she lay curled up, took a sniff of her, positioned himself like a guard and simply refused to be moved. 

Looking down at the two cats in the basket an amused look appeared on Mycroft’s face. 

"Not a surprise. Anthea took her to the vet today. Natashia’s expecting. Toby’s not going anywhere. (Mycroft, obviously, understanding the Alpha males’ psyche.) He is more than welcome to stay." 

After a scratch that required a plaster and trying everything to tempt him away Molly gave up. With tears in her eyes she looked at Mycroft. “It really looks like Toby isn’t coming home.”

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Molly and held her for a few moments. Slowly he put his hands on either side of Molly’s face, moving it up so he could look into her eyes. As he wiped Molly’s tears away with his thumbs, “You of course are welcome to stay forever as well, ” Mycroft whispered with a smile in his voice. 

//

These days Mycroft and Toby see themselves as on the same side because they are out-numbered. 

Sometimes when the house is quiet and dark Mycroft likes to sneak off into his study to get a bit of work done. Toby often follows. After a scratch behind the ears Mycroft will say, “You go check on our girls while I finish up.” 

Toby pads up the stairs to the master bedroom. Even though he can hear her soft snoring, Toby pushes the door open with his head to see for himself that Molly is indeed sleeping soundly.

Next stop is down the hall to the nursery, where Toby finds two little girls fast asleep in two little beds.

And finally to the kitchen. In a wicker basket near the Aga, Natashia and two kittens with pink collars are curled up — the three of them also happily sleeping. 

His rounds over Toby returns to the study to find Mycroft has moved to the sofa. Toby jumps up and settles on Mycroft’s lap for a quick cuddle before bed. 

The old foes are now very much enjoying life as friends — content in the knowledge that each has helped the other get what he wanted.


	13. "Mycroft, put down the cat."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mollcroft Friday - "Mycroft, put down the cat." For mcmwac   
> Note: I have changed “Mycroft” to “Sir” because Anthea is speaking.

//  
It was Monday morning at 7:42a and Anthea was already at her desk. 

At 7:46a Mycroft strode into his office and Anthea was more than a little shocked to see that there was a little furry head sticking out of Mycroft’s briefcase — and it appeared that Mycroft was having a one-sided conversation with it. 

"Here we are! This is where Anthea sits." Mycroft gestured towards Anthea while looking at the top of the furry head. "She tells us what we need to do each day. I’m sure Anthea will be able to provide you with a saucer of milk when she delivers my morning tea. And in here," said Mycroft as he opened the door next to Anthea’s desk, "is my office. Make yourself at home Toby."

Anthea had gotten up from her desk and with a look of disbelief on her face had followed Mycroft and Toby into Mycroft’s office. 

Sitting in his chair, Mycroft had a proud smile on his face as he watched Toby —sat in the middle of Mycroft’s desk— giving himself a bath. 

"Sir. What is the meaning of this?" Anthea was pointing at Toby— who stopped in mid-lick and glared at her. A similar look appeared on Mycroft’s face. 

"You know full well this is Miss Hooper’s cat Toby." answered Mycroft. 

"Yes but why is he here?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes while Toby, now finished with his wash, gave Anthea a withering look over his shoulder as he padded across the desk and gracefully leapt onto Mycroft’s lap. 

"You know Molly has gone to help her brother and sister-in-law with the new baby and asked me to take care of Toby for the week." Mycroft was now scratching Toby behind his ears. 

"Usually taking care of a cat involves going round every couple of days to put some dry food in his dish and change the water. He’s a cat. You don’t have to take him with you to work." 

With this Toby got off Mycroft’s lap and positioned himself on the desk and sat like an Egyptian tomb guard in front of Mycroft — his tail flicking back and forth staring intently at Anthea. 

Eerily both Mycroft and Toby cocked their heads in exactly the same way before Mycroft spoke, “Don’t you see what this is? Molly is giving me a test.”

Anthea frowned. Toby’s tail was still flicking as he gave Anthea another stern look. “What test? You are looking after her cat.”

"Precisely!" exclaimed Mycroft. "Two months ago when Molly went away on holiday she asked me to water her plants. See?"

"No. I don’t see." Toby rolled his head back to look at Mycroft. 

"I know Toby. She usually isn’t like this. She must have had a bad weekend."

"We are not talking about my weekend. We are talking about this cat." 

Toby shook his head and laid down on the desk. Mycroft let out a sigh. 

"First Molly asked me to take care of her plants. I did just as I was told. All were happy and healthy when Molly arrived home. Now, I have been charged with ensuring Toby’s welfare for the week. I’ve moved from plants to cat." Mycroft had a pleased look on his face. 

"Still don’t get it." Anthea crossed her arms. Toby was so bored his eyes slowly closed. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose Mycroft continued with an edge of frustration now in his voice. “I am moving up the responsibility chain. Plants, cat — Molly is testing my ability to care for her and any future children. Obviously.”

"Nope. I am pretty sure she just wanted you to fill his food bowl every couple of days,"

Scooping sleeping cat off his desk Mycroft’s held the now awake Toby tightly to his chest. “I for one am not willing to take that chance. Toby’s welfare might be the key to my future happiness and I will not allow him to wonder the streets of London unchecked for the next six days. I am ready for my tea and Toby his milk.”

 

Getting up to leave Anthea was sure Toby had stuck his tongue out at her. 

For the next few hours Anthea could hear Mycroft, in the voice people use when talking to pets and small children, giving Toby a running commentary on what he was doing. Anthea was looking forward to 11:30a —Mycroft’s meeting with the Prime Minister so she could have some peace and quiet. 

At 11:20a Mycroft, appeared with Toby tucked in his arm, ready for the short walk to Downing Street. 

"Sir! Put down the cat."

"No. Anthea, we have discussed this. I am not letting Toby out of my sight. As attentive as a father I shall be until Molly returns."

"Fine. I understand your need to bring Toby to the office. But this," Anthea gestured to Mycroft standing before her desk stroking Toby, "makes you look like a Bond Villain.

"You say that like it’s a bad thing." Mycroft and Toby gave Anthea matching smirks. 

"Come Toby. I have heard from a reliable source that the Deputy Prime Minister is slightly allergic to cats." Mycroft let out a small evil giggle as the door closed behind them.


	14. The Pyjama Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pyjama Party  
> Today’s Mollcroft Friday is a prompt fill for the Unlocked pyjama party challenge.
> 
> Big thanks to thinkture for reading, fixing and always making it better!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> //

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters.
> 
> This work is purely for entertainment.

Mycroft read the text for the 17th time and let out a sigh that was a mix of disgust and confusion.

Wordlessly, Anthea held out her hand and made a flicking motion with her fingers.

Rolling his eyes, he sighed again and laid his phone in his PA’s outstretched hand.

It took all of her years of training not to burst out laughing when she read the text.

“What does it mean?”

“Sir, it is quite obvious what it means.”

“Anthea, it is far from obvious or I would not have asked the question.”

“It’s from Molly. She has no hidden agendas. No secret plans. I believe it to be exactly what it says it is.”

Mycroft simply stared at Anthea for a few long moments.

The PA was very careful not to roll her eyes, or make any snide noises

“It says ‘I would like to invite you to a pyjama party tonight. Any time after 7:30p,‘” Anthea read the text aloud much to Mycroft’s embarrassment, “which means, Molly wants you to come over to her flat tonight after 7:30p and plan on staying the night. “

Shifting nervously, Mycroft fiddled with his pen.

“Mycroft,” Anthea’s voice dropped to just above a whisper and she used his first name. He knew she was about to tell him something very hard for him to hear. “You knew that dating someone so much younger than you was, at times, not going to be easy. This is one of those times.”

“What do you think she has planned? I have attended balls, coronations, ship christenings but never a ‘pyjama party,'” Mycroft’s tone was worried.

Anthea shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. “It’s Friday night, you have both had a long week … my guess is she wants a take-away and to curl up on the couch with you and a half-dozen episodes of Game of Thrones.”

“But the party part? Do you think she has invited others?”

“I am sure she is just being cute … They are called pyjama parties, not pyjama couples.”

“And the pyjama part? Does she really expect me to sit around in my pyjamas? Pyjamas are only for bed.”

It was Anthea’s turn to take a deep breath while she figured out just how to explain what Molly was actually asking. 

“Molly is gently suggesting that you bring an overnight bag with you tonight when you visit. I do not know the specifics of what she has planned, but it will be a safe bet the invitation includes breakfast.”

This new information didn’t make Mycroft feel any better.

He took a deep breath. “Anthea, am I ready for this?”

“Yes sir,” replied Anthea with a smile on her face. “You are as ready as you will ever be. I will prepare your overnight bag.”


	15. "Isn't that what boyfriends do?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Isn’t that what boyfriends do?”
> 
> Summary: Mycroft Holmes had been Molly’s boyfriend for months and she hadn’t noticed.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters.  
> This work is for entertainment purposes only.

Molly looked down and the wedding invitation in her hands and let out a sad sigh. “I can’t believe I have to go to another one of these family things by myself. I wish I had someone to go with me.”

It was Tuesday morning and Mycroft Holmes was, for lack of any better way to express it, “hanging out” in Molly’s lab when she opened the invitation to her favourite cousin’s wedding.

Even though when Mycroft had arrived, 35 minutes ago – only three minutes after Molly, she had explained that Sherlock wasn’t due for at least another 30 minutes, the older Holmes didn’t leave. He had responded with a small smile, left, and re-appeared 7 minutes later with her morning tea then sat himself at the back lab bench reading his emails and making notes in various file folders while Molly checked the overnight progress of her experiments and plotted the rest of her day.

When Molly made the comment under her breath about wishing for a boyfriend Mycroft looked at her with a very startled expression.

“Miss Hooper what did you just say?”

Stuffing the invitation unceremoniously back in the handwritten envelope, then moving on to the next piece of mail Molly just shook her head, “Nothing Mycroft. It’s a wedding invitation and I’m fed up with going to things on my own.”

“I would be happy to go with you if you wish,” replied Mycroft gently, eyeing up Molly sitting at the lab station nearest to him.

“Really?” Molly could not hide the look of utter disbelief as these word sunk in. “You would go to my cousin’s wedding with me?”

“Of course,” answered Mycroft simply. “Isn’t that what boyfriends do?” He added a shoulder shrug before the soft ping of his phone drew Mycroft’s attention away from Molly.

Three minutes later when he had finished composing a scathing email to the Japanese Ambassador, Mycroft looked up to see Molly still staring at him – as if frozen.

“Molly are you alright?”

“Oh … I’m sorry,” Molly was shaking her head to clear it. “I … I … must have misheard you. It sounded like you said you are my boyfriend.” She tried to cover up her mistake with a nervous giggle.

“You heard correctly. I am your boyfriend.” Mycroft’s left eyebrow flicked up into a perfect questioning arc. “Am I not?”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Instantly Molly began retracing all of her steps over the last three days trying to see if there had been any opportunity to be drugged or sustain a head injury. Finding no obvious cause for slipping into a parallel universe Molly resigned herself to the fact that this was indeed really happening to her.

“Ah… well …. I am not …. exactly sure ….. “

It had not been Molly’s intention to hurt Mycroft. In fact, given his position (although he insisted it was a Minor Position no one believed him) and the air of power that surrounded him, she had been sure it would actually be quite difficult to cause him any distress, but she had obviously been wrong. Very wrong.

“Other than meeting with the Prime Minister, this,” Mycroft looked around as he moved his hands in circles, “is the only other set meeting I have each week.” He looked disappointed.

Thinking back, Molly could not remember a Tuesday morning that had not contained Mycroft Holmes handing her a large cup of tea made just as she liked it.

“Does my car not take you home each time you forget your umbrella, whenever there is a tube strike or if there is an afternoon post mortem on an infant?”

Mycroft was chest-fallen when he realised It had never occurred to Molly that all of those rides home weren’t just a coincidence. Each time it has been Mycroft– he sent his car to her to ensure a comfortable ride home – just when she needed it most.

“And when the substandard sutures put in by the junior field doctor came out, you replaced them with tender dignity. It didn’t hurt half as bad as the occasions when Anthea stitched me up. I take it that meant nothing.“ Mycroft was obviously crushed.

Six weeks ago Mycroft appeared at her flat before dawn had broken. Blood was seeping through his shirt and he was near shock due to the pain and the blood loss. She had, as he said done a quick and effective job stitching the British Government up that day. After a strong cup of tea, a short nap on her sofa under the crocheted blanket her granny had made her – Mycroft was right as rain and easily made it to his 11am meeting with the Cabinet. Before he had left her flat that morning Mycroft had laid his hand on her arm and looked deeply into her eyes to thank her with honesty and sincerity.

Closing her eyes Molly took a deep shuddering breath.

Oh god. Mycroft Holmes had been her boyfriend for months and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Mycroft. I am so sorry. I have not … it’s just …,” Molly was trying to figure out what to say to save this situation, “I’m not very good at relationships.” She blurted out as she shrugged her shoulders and gave Mycroft a pleading look.

“I have found this to be true,” replied Mycroft dryly. “I did hope there would be slightly more participation on your part in our relationship.”

Molly had to cough to cover up the shocked chuckle that ripped through her body.

“It is my fault. Completely my fault that I have been so inattentive to you these last …” Molly looked at Mycroft expectantly

“… six months as of last Thursday.”

“It’s … well … I like to take things slowly,” again Molly explained as she smiled and tried not to look embarrassed or horrified.

Taking a deep breath and looking at Mycroft – looking at her boyfriend – Molly decided Mycroft deserved a little something for remaining her boyfriend despite being totally ignored. Standing up on her tiptoes, and holding on to Mycroft’s arms as he unconsciously placed his hands on her hips, she placed a gentle and lingering kiss on his lips.

“Anthea was correct. That was worth waiting for,” hummed Mycroft into the top of Molly’s head as the pair held each other close, “but now I have to go to my next meeting. See you next week darling.” Having let go of Molly, Mycroft was busy putting his things back in his briefcase and getting ready to leave.

“Perhaps we could have dinner sometime? That might help move things on a little faster,” Molly was blushing as she nervously made this suggestion.

“Oh … perhaps that would be possible,” Mycroft seemed slightly surprised at the idea. “Yes. Yes. I think that that is the sort of thing that boyfriends and girlfriends do isn’t it – dine together,” Mycroft’s eyes were shining like he was imagining something every exotic and exciting. “I shall have Anthea ring you to set something up for perhaps later this week. Goodbye Molly,” called Mycroft as he left Molly standing in the middle of her lab wondering just what she had gotten herself into.


	16. Molly is Needy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own these characters. This work is purely for entertainment.  
> //
> 
> Hello! thinkture asked for a quick fic this afternoon. Here you go my dear!
> 
> Enjoy!

The soft groan coupled with the request “I need a shag,” although barely audible caused the attention of both Holmes brothers to snap towards the small pathologist sagging at her lab station. 

“Molly. You said that out loud.” Sherlock spoke hesitantly his eyes now darting between Molly, watching as she pulled out her phone with an air of desperation, and his secretly-smitten brother who was growing more pale by the second. 

“Yea. Well. Sorry. I am exhausted both mentally and physically by this point and as soon as the results are in from this experiment I want a good old fashioned shag. You wouldn’t understand.” Molly’s gaze was intent on her phone as she spoke. “Either of you.”

These words drove a red-hot poker into Mycroft’s heart. He swallowed hard because unfortunately for him he knew all-too-well what longing felt like. 

“Hoping for a quick nocturnal visit from a previous suitor?” He tried to make this a casual comment while internally Mycroft was calculating which roads he could close to ensure no one could get near his beloved Molly tonight. 

“Nope. Greg. I know he fancies me. I’m sure he will be happy to sort me out.”

Both men were stunned into momentary silence by the bluntness of the words coming from Molly tonight. 

“Miss Hooper might I suggest how unwise that would be given his current personal situation. I hear his wife has left him again.” Tiny beads of sweat were appearing on Mycroft’s brow. 

“Sounds like he will be more than interested,” smiled Molly – her eyes lighting up as she obviously found the number she had been searching for and hit the call button. 

Swiftly Mycroft had his phone out of his pocket and was furiously tapping away. 

“Greg? Hi, it’s Molly. Greg? Greg?” Molly frowned at her phone. “Huh. I lost the phone signal? Do you have a signal?” Her face filled with confusion as she looked towards the brothers. 

It was difficult to cover up his snort as Sherlock watched his brother casually  wave his phone at Molly before quickly slipping it back in his pocket. “Yes. Mine is fine.“ 

“Totally gone. Oh well. I’ll just take my chances and go over to his flat. Experiment done.  And now I’m leaving.” Molly was already ignoring Sherlock’s pleas of running the experiment one more time while Mycroft effortlessly swept into Molly’s office and brought her bag and coat to her. 

As he held her coat Molly gave Mycroft a cautious look before she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Adjusting her coat Mycroft allowed his hands to linger slightly longer than is normal on Molly’s shoulders causing yet another small groan to escape from the needy woman  followed by, “I really, really need to go.”

“In that case allow me to give you a lift. I shudder to think what will happen to you on public transport tonight in your current condition.” Mycroft gave Molly a small smile as his heart began to race in anticipation.

“Fantastic. Show me to your car." 

//

"I don’t think I have ever had sex in a car while it was moving,” stated Molly quietly followed by a deep relaxing sigh. 

“Neither had I,” replied Mycroft sleepily. 

“Or on my kitchen table.”

“I have done that, but not your kitchen table clearly.”

“The full body massage followed by sex in the shower was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.” Sleep was pulling Mycroft towards her.

“I do have a confession to make.” Mycroft could feel the guilt seeping into the naked woman lying next to him. He opened one eye to look at her. 

“Um. I don’t actually have Greg’s number.” Hesitantly Molly watched as both of Mycroft’s eyes opened. She got ready for some shouting. 

“Are you telling me I took down half of the cell towers in London for nothing?" Not quite shouting but not far off.

"It was YOU that made my mobile signal disappear?" This was shouting.

By now it was hard to tell which one was more cross. 

"I only did it to save you from Greg. What’s your excuse?”

“To get you to shag me. Obviously.” Replied Molly with a smirk. 

“You have played me like a Stradivarius my dear. Of course you know … this means war.” Mycroft pulled Molly close and once again closed his eyes. “I shall find a suitable punishment after a short nap. 

"I’m looking forward to it,” smiled Molly as she gave Mycroft a kiss on his nose. 


	17. Father's Day 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something for Father's Day 2015.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was 8:36a on Sunday morning. Opening his eyes Mycroft looked expectantly at his bedside table. It held exactly what it did when he went to sleep: his phone (plugged in), alarm clock, and book. 

He rolled over with a “humph” and accidentally woke his sleeping wife. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Molly softly, still very much asleep. 

“Nothing.”

“You are lying. Tell me.” One of Molly’s eyes was now open. 

Mycroft was now laying on his back stareing up at the ceiling. Molly knew it must be bad if he wasn’t willing to look at her.

“Given the fact it is Father’s Day, your period is over two week late and you are perhaps the most sentimental person I know I was expecting a card announcing your pregnancy waiting for me when I woke up.“ 

Now fully awake, Molly laughed out loud. 

“What is so funny?" 

"You are. Mycroft, there are a dozen reasons why I might be late and not be pregnant.”

“You felt sick yesterday morning,” countered Mycroft. 

“Probably just a bug I picked up at work.” Molly was busy fluffing her pillow. 

“How do you plan on telling me you are pregnant if not by a card today?”

“Maybe I’m pregnant. Maybe not.” Molly rolled onto her side side facing her husband and closed her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Going back to sleep. I’m tired.” Molly gave a big yawn to emphasise this point. 

“How can you possibly sleep when you could be pregnant.” Shaking his head Mycroft looked at Molly with an expression that showed just how unfathomable this was to him. 

“I’m either pregnant or I’m not. A bit more sleep isn’t going to change things,” replied Molly with her eyes closed.

A few moments later Molly opened one eye to check on her silent husband. He was staring at her. If he was blinking, he was doing it very slowly. 

Sitting up in bed Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine. I give up. Go get a pregnancy test.”

//  
An hour and a half later Mycroft found Molly lying on the couch in the conservatory watching a cooking show. 

He was carrying a white paper bag. Through the thin paper Molly could make out at least four different boxes. 

“Hey. You were gone a long time. I was getting worried.” Molly pushed herself up to sitting as Mycroft took a seat next to her.

“Apparently this is a ‘thing’,” Mycroft emphasised the last word while rolling his eyes. “Sending the possible father out for a pregnancy test on Father’s Day. The queue at Boots was extraordinary.”

“Show me what you bought.”

Sheepishly Mycroft began pulling thin oblong boxes out of the bag – five in total. He lined them up neatly on the coffee table. 

Molly’s eyebrow flicked up questioningly as a smirk appeared on her face she stared silently at Mycroft. 

"I was confused! I bought one of each,” he blurted out anxiously.

“What else is in the bag?” Molly watched as Mycroft’s cheeks turned pink with embarrassment as he fumbled nervously with the bag before putting his hand in and pulling out the sixth and last box – an ovulation test. She laughed out loud. 

“And I take it this is in case I’m not pregnant? Wow. Suddenly somebody’s biological clock seems to be ticking!”

Mycroft’s eyes flicked up to meet Molly’s as he nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

He picked up the nearest box pregnancy tests and handed it to Molly. “Shall we?”

With a sigh she got up off the couch and headed to the loo with Mycroft following closely behind. 

//

“I seriously can not believe you stood here and watched me pee.” Molly, with her legs pulled up to her chest, was sitting on the closed toilet lid.  

“I seriously can not believe you expected me to wait outside.” Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the tub looking more nervous with every passing moment. “How much longer?“ 

"About two minutes." 

The tension in the loo was broken by a sharp knock on the door before it opened revealing Sherlock. 

"Sherlock!” shouted Mycroft “what the hell are you doing?”

Sherlock was calm and relaxed. “You know we are meant to have our annual call to father in 7 minutes, and I find you in your loo. Fully clothed.  With your wife. Care to explain?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mycroft lept to his feet – anxiety had gotten the better of him and he was still shouting at his brother. 

“She has just taken a pregnancy test and we are waiting to find out if …” he grabbed the white stick sitting near the sink and waved it madly in Sherlock’s direction. Mycroft’s eyes widened with surprise as he noticed the small oval display. “ … Molly is pregnant.”

Before another word was said Molly and Sherlock watched Mycroft faint and crumple to the ground in front of them. 

With his hands on his hips Sherlock gave Molly a disapproving look. 

“How late are you?”

“17 days,” answered Molly quietly. 

“Mrs Holmes, exactly how long have you known you are pregnant?”

Looking at the still figure of her husband lying in the middle of the bathroom rug Molly took a deep breath. “19 days.”

“So instead of just buying him a card to tell him what you already knew you denied the truth, sent him out to buy a pregnancy test and then had him watch you take said test just to wind up and torment him.”

“Yea. I guess so.” Hugging her legs to her chest Molly shrugged her shoulders and smiled innocently at Sherlock. "A card seemed far too normal and pedestrian for your brother.“

"Molly Margaret Holmes,” slowly a huge smile appeared on Sherlock’s face as he casually stepped over his brothers unconscious body and scooped Molly up in his arms. “Had I known how deliciously devious you are I would have insisted you married my brother years ago.” Sherlock kissed the top of her head as he whispered, “Congratulations.”

“Aww, thank you Sherlock.” A groan from the man on the floor drew their attention. Mycroft had opened his eyes and was weakly pushing himself up. 

“Mycroft. If this is how you react to a mere pregnancy test how on Earth are you going to survive the birth?” There was a huge smirk on his face while Sherlock asked this question.

“Oh god … ” and again Mycroft’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped back onto the floor having fainted a second time. 


End file.
